


In Dreams

by waitingfover



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prophetic Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28461585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingfover/pseuds/waitingfover
Summary: Makalaurë’s hand burned as he clutched the precious stone. The pain made him gasp as tears streamed down his face. He stared out over the crashing waves. As he stood there in agony, images flashed before his eyes. Images of things he rather forget...
Kudos: 6





	In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a Silmarillion fic. I've been re-reading the book and have a few ideas for stories. We'll see if they ever come into fruition.

_Makalaurë’s hand burned as he clutched the precious stone. The pain made him gasp as tears streamed down his face. He stared out over the crashing waves. As he stood there in agony, images flashed before his eyes. Images of things he'd rather forget, but can't no matter how hard he tries...._

  
  
_The Silmarils. Bright, beautiful. Shining from a light locked within._

  
  
_Nerdanel crying in distress. Growing smaller in the distance. Regret. Don’t look back._

  
  
_Ships. Distant lands. Fëanor’s haughty voice echoing round a battlefield over the clash of metal._

_Frenzied actions. Adrenalin. Kill them._

  
  
_A large demon of fire. All consuming darkness. Fear, terror. Death._

  
  
_Fëanor’s body burning brightly. Sorrow. No purpose. Brothers unite. Revenge._

  
_Carnistir and Tyelko cornering him, feral snarls plastered on their faces. How can you abandon him?_

_Yelling at them. Anger, despair, treason._

  
  
_Neylo lying still as death in a much too small bed, his right hand gone. All-consuming guilt. My fault._

  
  
_Searching for survivors. Tyelko, Curvo and Carnistir, lying lifeless in a great hall, surrounded by pools of their own blood._

_Death all around them. Tears, blame. All for what?_

  
  
_The Ambarussa run through by long spears. Their mangled bodies draped against a stone wall._

_Suffocating grief. Too young, they were too young..._

  
  
_Neylo has the other stone, a Silmaril, and cursing someone. Father maybe?_

_Then he was jumping off the cliff, into an abyss, vanishing out of sight._

_Neylo, no!_ _His throat was raw, his voice gone from calling out to a brother who is no longer there._

  
  
_He was alone. There was no one left. He was the last one. A feeling of overwhelming loneness swept over him. Makalaurë looked down at the jewel clutched in his hand. It was a thing of beauty. At one point he might have desired it, but no more. The death and destruction brought about by it were not worth it._   
  
_It tore his heart, but he threw it with all his might towards the horizon. It flashed once before splashing into the dark water. Even once it was gone, Makalaurë’s hand still burned. He looked down at the appendage. The skin was black and pealing. Makalaurë felt as though his hand had been plunged into his father’s forge. He knew they would never heal; a reminder of all his crimes..._

  
  
He screamed and sat up panting. He looked at his shaking hand. To his amazement, it was whole and unblemished; the phantom pain now a dull throb. It took him a moment to realize that he was back in his room. Golden light streamed through high, open windows. The house felt strangely silent. The dream, for that is what it had been, had been far too real. The blood, the death, the torment. When he closed his eyes he could still see everything. He would never forget. His eyes grew wide as fear for his brothers took hold.  
  
He threw back his covers and ran from the room, bare feet quietly thudding on the polished wood floors. It was morning, the family was gathering for breakfast. Carnistir still mostly asleep, glaring at everyone from the end of the table. Neylo was reading a book at the table, shooing off the twins who were trying to pour syrup in his hair. Teylko was feeding Huan while Nerdanel was scolding him, telling him no animals in the dining room for the hundredth time. Curvo and Fëanor were talking about some project at the forge, sketches littering the table and floor near them.  
  
Makalaurë burst into the room. They all looked up surprised. Makalaurë threw himself into his Mother’s arms. She was startled, but hugged him back. Pulling away, he turned to give Teylko a hug not caring as Huan licked his face, then reached over to Fëanor and Curvo enveloping them next. Carnistir did not return his hug, but gave him a concerned look. By the time he got to Neylo, tears of relief were streaming down his face. The dream was still vivid in his mind, but it wasn’t quite so believable now. His family was still alive.   
  
“Kano? You ok?” Neylo’s voice was muffled from where Makalaurë had buried his head in his brother’s shoulder.

"You're fine! It was just a dream..." Makalaurë murmured back, "It was just a dream."


End file.
